


Gilded

by somethinginbetween



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Revenge, School Shootings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-11-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somethinginbetween/pseuds/somethinginbetween
Summary: The golden girl of Winterfell was never seen with a hair out of place, she made sure of that.OrThe one where Sansa consecutively kills both of her rapists in a room of thirty-two witnesses.
Relationships: Petyr Baelish/Sansa Stark, Sansa Stark/Happiness
Comments: 34
Kudos: 37





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey all. Major warnings for this one.  
> This idea has been rattling around in my head for a while and I just had to get it out.

Sansa didn’t hate men. Absolutely not. But she did think having a penis gave someone a certain brand of privilege. Like how Joffery had hit her in middle school and stalked her until she threatened Robb on him. Or how in high school she’d found Harry in a closet with her co-captain at a party she’d planned. He had even bothered to beg for her forgiveness. Or how her uncle had threatened to fail her unless she performed fellatio on him.  
Uncle Baelish and Aunt Lysa had been another reason for her to go to Harvard. Or so she’d thought. It would be good to have family close by, in case she got homesick. And home was two hundred miles away.  
She’d specifically taken his political science class even though she was premed. Mostly to fill her general education requirements, but also because who knows? She was only a sophomore. Maybe she didn’t want to be a doctor.  
Stupid, stupid, stupid.  
It wasn’t long before she began to notice he had a certain awareness of her. He’d observe her walking into class, and encourage her to come to dinner just a little too much. She began to minimize her visits to her Aunts. But still in class, she could feel his stare on her. And his oily invitations to office hours. He even became bold enough to make little side comments in class. They meant nothing to everyone else, but could easily be applied to a different context.  
At one point he connected a metaphor about parking his car in a tight space to the election of George Bush. Sansa looked around in amazement. But nobody else seemed to notice. She flushed and Dr. Baelish quirked an eyebrow at her.  
This had to come to an end, she realized. She had tried to ignore it at first, hoping she had misread something. But it was only getting worse and didn’t show any signs of stopping. There was still more than half the semester left. And perhaps it had been her, she thought. First with Joffery, then with Harry. Her track record with men hadn’t been great. Maybe he had led him on in some way.  
She made up her mind to talk to him. He was her Uncle, for god’s sake. She couldn’t very well report him to Title IX. What if he got in trouble? And she didn’t want to cause strife in her family. Aunt Lysa had always been so delicate and unpredictable. No. She would talk it out with him and get him to stop.  
So, she’d gathered up all her courage, taken a deep breath and walked into office hours with her chin held high.  
He was sitting at his desk answering emails. He caught sight of her and something glittered in his eye, “Sansa.”  
“Uncle Petyr.” Reminding him that they were related should deter him.  
He leaned backward in his chair, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”  
“I have noticed…” She took a deep breath, trying to still her nerves, “I may have been over imagining things. But I feel as if you have been giving me too much attention recently. Probably because I am your niece.”  
“You think that?”  
“I do.” She said, “And I just want you to know that I would prefer the same amount of attention as anyone else. In the class.”  
He stared at her with grey eyes, “Well Sansa, I’m surprised you feel this way.”  
She felt relief wash over her.  
“Because I have been most blatant in my affections toward you.”  
The wave hit a wall.  
“I am quite...interested in you Sansa Stark. I find you quite captivating.”  
“You’re married to my Aunt.” She managed.  
“This is true, this is true. But what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her. And fidelity seems to disappear in your presence.”  
He was getting off on the power of it all she realized. “This is disgusting.” She stood up to leave. She didn’t know what she’d do. Drop the class, report him to Title IX, tell Robb. Something. But she couldn’t bear to listen another second.  
“Sit down, Sansa.” He said evenly.  
“Or what?” She snapped.  
“Or I will tell your aunt what a harlot you’ve been. Throwing yourself at me like this, and after all we’ve done for you. Your aunt will talk to your mom and before long, you’ll be investigated for making false claims to get an A. My class is notoriously difficult, even for poli sci majors. And you’re a chemistry major. The golden girl, for the first time in her life, found herself struggling. And when she realized she couldn’t get an A, she reverted to less...honorable methods of getting her way. People love stories of perfect people getting their hands dirty. Makes them feel better about their own sad lives. And when people hear what you’ve done what will they say? What will they think?”  
Sansa was frozen, half sitting half standing, “You wouldn’t.”  
“Oh, I would.”  
“Then just let me go. I won’t tell anyone. I’ll drop your class, stop visiting. You’ll never see me again.”  
Petyr considered this a moment, “We could do that. But the thing is, Sansa…” She hated the way he said her name, “is that reality is malleable. What happens doesn’t really matter. The only thing that does is the story. What people believe is what happened. If I tell Lysa you threw yourself at me, she’ll believe it. If I go to Title IX myself and mention that a student has offered a quid pro quo, they’ll believe it.”  
“They won’t.”  
“They will. I’ll tell them a story, and they’ll listen sweetly. I’ve been a tenured professor for eight years here. I’m widely respected in the academic field and I’ve never even had a student complain about my class. They’ll pick me over you every day of the week. Colleges are like that, money grubbing.”  
She stared at him in horror. She had an awful feeling he was telling the truth. “You’re evil.”  
“Not evil. I just get what I want.”  
She was at a loss for words.  
“Close the door Sansa.”  
And with shaking hands, she had.

“Professor Baelish is so hot, don’t you think?” Her friend Jayne whispered to her before class started. Sansa picked at her cuticles, “He’s my uncle.”  
“If I had to pick a professor, he’d be first in line. He’s so funny too.”  
Slowly, she had begun to build a case against him. Bought a recorder and recorded their...sessions. She’d go to Title IX soon. Soon, she told herself. But anxiety twisted in her stomach whenever she thought about it. Baelish was family. This wouldn’t just go away. And he’d do his best to drag her name through the mud, she knew.

Sitting in his class was torture, and no matter how many breathing exercises she did, the knots in her stomach never dissipated. Her attendance was still good: it had to be. He graded her like she was any other student. Asshole.  
Dr. Baelish was currently giving a lesson on the judicial branch. She tried to ignore his gaze that always seemed to find her.  
A pop in the distance sounded. That was strange. Were people playing with fireworks?  
Jayne next to her furrowed her eyebrows, “What was that?” She whispered.  
Sansa shrugged, “A prank?”  
And then more ‘rat-tat-tat-tats’ and those weren’t sparkles.  
Those were gunshots.  
Petyr's lecture halted. He strode to the front of the class and closed and locked the door.  
She ducked under the table.  
Her classmates' quizzical looks turned to understanding and they began to move under the desks. She pulled Jayne down, who had frozen in fear.  
The lights turned off and Dr. Baelish ducked under a desk.  
She went on Twitter. And tweet after tweet greeted her. Tell my mother I love her. Shooter in Harvard. He's on the second floor.  
The shots were growing louder.  
Jayne was crying beside her. Sansa thought about slapping her. They all needed to be quiet.  
Life had taken on a dreamlike quality. Part of her still suspected some sort of jape but the other half knew this was deadly reality. Hadn’t they all seen this happening in the news?  
The fire alarm went off.  
Through the din, she noticed a presence through the window of the door. Jayne began to whimper, which quickly turned into loud crying when bullets broke the glass. The shooter reached his hand through and unlocked the door.  
She hadn’t said goodbye, she realized. Had she told her parents that she loved them? She’d fought with Arya before she’d left for college.  
The shooter slammed the door behind him. He was pacing, not shooting.  
“Shit.” He hissed, walking back and forth, “Shit. Shit. Fuck.”  
She saw flashes of police sirens through the window. Please. She prayed. Please find us. Jayne was still crying beside her.  
The shooter stilled, scanning the room. She knew him, Sansa realized. He had been in her gen chem class Freshman year. Ramsay Bolton, if she recalled correctly.  
His eyes found the sound next to her.  
Shut up, shut up shut up shut up she wanted to shout, but she didn’t dare.  
He walked up to their table and yanked Jayne out from under the desk. Jayne sobbed. He grabbed a chair and pulled her to the front of the classroom. Sansa got a sick feeling in her stomach.  
“Suck.” He commanded, unzipping his pants.  
Jayne sobbed.  
“Suck it.” He yelled, more insistently.  
But Jayne just sat there crying.  
He shot her. Sansa jumped. What had once been her friend was now lying on the ground.  
And then his eyes fell on Sansa.  
He tucked himself back in and stood up.  
“I know you. You’re the perfect girl, the golden bitch.”  
If she ran, would he shoot her?  
He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her to the front of the classroom. And again.  
“Suck.”  
So she did.  
It was just a penis. She’d sucked one before. It wasn’t a big deal. Just some saliva, and a rhythmic motion. His handgun was on a holster on his leg. Use a hand to reach the parts you couldn’t with your mouth. The class was silent. She swirled her tongue around the tip and looked up at him.  
And then snatched the gun from the holster.  
He’d grabbed her neck when she’d moved and began squeezing, but Sansa was quicker. She shot him in the stomach, at an angle where the bullet would travel upward into his heart. He let go and she ripped herself from him, standing up and looking around.  
Her classmates had all looked on, her gaze scanned all of them but none would meet her eye.  
Dr. Baelish began to unravel himself from the desk, and moved to stand up.  
She knew how to handle a gun. Robb, Arya, and Jon had taken her shooting one time. She’d been good, they told her, for a newbie.  
She raised the gun and shot him. A hole appeared in his head. He fell backwards, and for once had no words.  
She stepped over the corpse of her friend, collected her belongings, and walked out leaving the broken glass and fire alarms behind her.


	2. Chapter 2

The hallways were empty. Broken glass was everywhere and the flashing lights were disorienting. She took the back way out. The cops might think they have every exit cornered, but she’d spent hours studying in this building. She knew every nook and cranny, and there was a broken window on the first floor. She threw her backpack through and squeezed out. The daylight blinded her and all of a sudden she found herself on her hands and knees throwing up into a bush. It all came back to her. The feeling of him in her throat, Jayne lying on the floor, the stillness of Petyr’s face. She spat and wiped at her mouth. The police were around, that was why Ramsay was freaked out. She was partially hidden and no one had noticed her amidst all the chaos. She needed to get out of here. She began walking forward, dazed. Oh god. She’d had an entire room full of witnesses. If they caught her, there’d be a police report, she’d be put to trial. The campus would talk. She could see the disappointment in her parent’s face. Sansa Stark, a murderer. What would people think of her? Her aunt. She hadn’t even thought about that. Her aunt would curse her for eternity.  
No. She couldn’t deal with it. Any of it.  
She had to disappear.  
But how? Not back to her dorm. That’s the first place they’d look. She needed to change. Change everything. Sansa Stark was too noticeable.  
She’d walked off campus, she realized. Well, maybe that was for the better. She could never step foot there ever again. She ducked behind one of the houses, using the trees as cover and began to sort through her backpack. She had a med kit, utensils, hand wipes, condoms, a makeup bag. She’d fancied herself ready for every emergency. That was a joke, she realized now. What was emergency glitter going to do for her now?  
She used the hand wipes to clean the makeup off her face. The wipe had a smear of blood on it. Or was that lipstick? She used another. It was blood. Was she Lady Macbeth now? Full of stains that water could never wash away?  
God, everything about her was so noticeable. Purple patterned backpack, color coordinated binders. Even her water bottle was covered in stickers. She threw it down in disgust. Fine. She’d make a stop at a Walmart.  
Her hair, she realized. She was going to have to get rid of it. Her heart sank. Sansa Stark was so proud of her long, auburn hair. She unzipped her sparkly blue pencil pouch and emptied it out. Her scissors were small things, something you’d find in a kindergarten classroom. With shaking hands, she grabbed parts of her hair and began cutting.  
Her haircut had cost a lot of money. She’d chosen more pronounced layers this time. And it was freshly shampoo'd and straightened. She stuffed the locks into the pouch. She hadn’t even gotten to donate it.  
She was left with choppy short hair that looked more than a little uneven. Oh well. It would suffice.  
She shook her head. It felt so much lighter.  
She sorted through her backpack methodically. Most of it was useless. She kept her makeup bag, debit card, and her last wet wipe before stuffing her backpack behind the bush.  
She turned to go before realizing that she still had her phone. Blast it. She hadn’t been without a phone since she was eight. But they’d be able to track her on it. It had to go.  
Her first order of business was stopping by the ATM. Babysitting and tutoring had given her a balance of $1089.08. Her paycheck must have gone through. She tucked the cash in her back pocket and cut the card up.  
In the store she debated between the wax hair dye and the spray. She couldn’t do anything that required a shower. The wax, she decided although it was sure to feel greasy. It would draw less attention to her in the bathroom.  
She bought a new backpack, this one black. A baggy grey hoodie and off-white sneakers. Innocuous. Anonymous. Her jeans were too tight. They hugged her figure. She got new ones.  
In the bathroom, she changed, throwing her old outfit into her backpack. She rubbed the dye into her hair, and used her eyeliner to buff up her eyebrows.  
She looked in the mirror. A stranger stared back at her. She still looked too feminine to truly pass as a boy, but from a distance it might work. Even if they saw she was a woman, they wouldn’t know that it was Sansa Stark. She didn’t even recognize herself.  
On her way out, she bought a water bottle and a book. She should eat, she knew, but her sour stomach told her that she wouldn’t be able to handle anything at the moment. Any food would come straight back up. At the last second, she bought a knife.  
She walked out a different person. She found a trash can for her old outfit and strode out into the parking lot. And stopped.  
She couldn’t go home, she knew. That was where they expected her to go. She couldn’t go to Winterfell or Harvard. She needed a place where she could lie low, even just for a day.  
New York, she decided. She’d visit Myranda at NYU. Her high school best friend was not great with secrets, but she’d hide her. From there, she’d make a long-term plan. Anyone could disappear in New York.  
The bus station was filthy.  
The man looked at her blankly, “Name?”  
“Oh. Ummm.”  
He stared at her, bored.  
“Ned.” She squeaked out.  
“Ned…”  
“Ned Garyen.”  
He squinted at her and handed her a ticket.  
It was nighttime by the time she reached New York. Her hands itched for her phone but instead she bought a map from the local gas station. Even with it, she got lost twice, and it took her over an hour to find the campus. From there, it was easy. NYU had started a couple weeks earlier so she’d helped Myranda move in. They’d been so happy then.  
She hid outside the dorm and followed another student in. She flashed the bored desk boy her bus ticket and he waved her in. God. University security really was shit. No wonder Ramsay had managed to bring an arsenal into Harvard.  
Jayne lived on the second floor. But when she went knocked, nobody answered.  
She knocked louder. Still nothing. She put her ear to the door, but there was only silence. Shit. It was a Thursday. What could she be doing?  
“No.” She said aloud, “Please no.”  
She sank to the ground. She’d come so far. She’d made it past the police, hidden herself. The tears came before she could stop them. Where was she supposed to spend the night? Waste all her money on a hotel room? Spend the night on the streets? It would be dangerous. All of a sudden, it all hit her. The feel of Ramsay in her mouth, Baelish’s face with a hole in it. Her classmate’s expressions as she looked over at them. What they must think of her. But she wasn’t Sansa Stark anymore, she reminded herself. So it didn’t really matter.  
“Are you okay?” A voice said.  
She looked up and through her tears saw Shae, Myranda’s RA. They’d met during move-in day.  
“Yes.” She replied. Did she recognize her?  
“You don’t look okay.” Shae spoke with a slight accent that Sansa couldn’t place.  
“It’s just been a very long day.”  
“I’m sorry to hear that.”  
“I was supposed to visit my friend but I lost my phone, and now she’s not even here.”  
“Are you here to see Myranda?”  
Sansa nodded.  
“She’s been very close with another one of her guy friends recently. She may not be coming back tonight.”  
“Oh.”  
“If you need, you can spend the night in my room.”  
“You don’t even know me.”  
“I do know you.”  
“Oh." All of a sudden she felt silly. She had thought she looked so different but a near stranger was cluing in to her, "How’d you know?”  
“I recognized you on the news.”  
“Ah.”  
Shae looked down at her, concerned, “Do you need a place to stay?”  
Are you going to report me?”  
“Should I?”  
“Please don’t.”  
“I wasn’t going to.  
Sansa didn't know if she could trust her.  
Shae shuffled her feet, 'So... do you want my couch for the night or no?”  
Sansa wiped the tears from her eyes, “Please.”  
Shae’s room was modestly decorated. Pastel but chic, and minimalist in way that left the cramped space look open. Shae threw a pillow on the couch, “The shower is open if you need it. Would you like some food?”  
All of a sudden Sansa was starving, “Yes please.”  
She threw her a packet of ramen.  
Sansa didn’t eat ramen. Too unhealthy and the sodium content was through the roof. But she wasn’t Sansa anymore and it would be rude to ask for something else.  
She read the instructions.  
Shae sat on the bed, watching her, “Do you want to talk about it?”  
Her stomach still twisted at the question, “Not particularly.”  
"Okay." Shae shrugged and got out her laptop.  
They stayed in silence. She watched the bowl spin in the microwave.  
"What are they saying?" Sansa asked.  
“That you killed a school shooter and a professor. That the school shooter deserved to die but the professor didn't."  
"He's my uncle. The professor.” Her voice was curiously stable. Perhaps she’d already cried all her tears out, “Or, was my uncle.”  
“That's what they're saying too. The news doesn’t know why you’d shoot him. They’re at a loss.”  
The words came pouring out of her before she could stop them, “I let him have sex with me. A lot. He said that if I told anyone he’d say I was lying.” She looked down at her noodles, not daring to look at Shae.  
"Did you want to have sex with him?"  
"No."  
"So he was a rapist."  
Sansa stirred the noodles adding the flavor packet, "I didn't report him like I should have. I was too afraid about what people would think." Arya wouldn't have hesitated for a second, she knew.   
"Still not your fault. And if you think it is then he knew exactly what he was doing. If he didn't get it one way, he'd figure out another. They spot weaknesses and prey on them. The smart ones are always the worst."  
"I just..." All of a sudden Sansa felt her exhaustion wash over her, "I just wish it had never happened."  
"You're not alone, you know. Most women are raped. It's ignored, mostly. But it happens."  
"Were you?"  
"Of course. A couple of times. But it was a long time ago. I'm more careful now. And a carry pepper spray just in case."  
"I'm sorry."  
Shae waved her off, "You get over it. The shame isn't our problem, you know. It is there's. Why should you or I be ashamed about something like that? We didn't do anything wrong."  
"Well, I did murder them."  
"Semantics."  
Sansa tried her noodles. Not bad.  
“So what are you going to do now?” Shae asked.  
Sansa had no answer for her, “What would you do?”  
“Hmmm. I’d go to family, but if that wasn’t possible, then I’d travel. It’s a big wide world out there and I haven’t seen much of it.”  
“Hmmmm. Yea, I could do that.”  
“You don’t know what you’re going to do?”  
“Not a clue.”  
“You could always turn yourself in. They’re easy on women.”  
“Not an option.”  
“Then I can give you a website for some cheap flights.”  
“Yea. I’d like that.”  
They lapsed into silence as Sansa ate her noodles. But a question still nagged at her,  
“Why?”  
Shae closed her laptop, “Why what?”  
“Why are you doing this for me?”  
“You looked very miserable sitting there outside of the door. And I know what it’s like to need to lay low for a while.”  
Sansa didn’t trust her. Shae might wait till she was asleep and report her. Or worse. Apparently human trafficking was a thriving buisness in New York City. But where else was she to go?  
“I’m going to bed now.” Shae said, standing up to turn off the light, “I’ve got an 8am in the morning. I’m going to ask you to leave by tomorrow. I’m trying to graduate college and don’t want to get hit by an aiding and abetting lawsuit.”  
“Yeah I understand. Thanks for letting me stay here tonight.”  
The light went out and Sansa stared at the ceiling. She dearly wanted a bath but didn’t want to wash out her hair. Her thoughts swirled in the darkness. Where would she go? What would she do? This life wasn’t sustainable. She only had $900 left and nowhere to go.  
Maybe Myranda would be back by the morning. But then what? Was she going to live off the charity of others for the rest of her life?  
All of a sudden it struck her. Arya. She was brave, and tougher than Sansa. Arya would know what to do.  
She fell into an uneasy sleep, and dreamt about men who hadn’t realized they’d died.

She woke to Shae shaking her, “I’m sorry my dear, but you have to go. I’m late for class.”  
“Oh. Yeah, no problem.” She grabbed her backpack.  
“Any idea as to where you’re headed off to?”  
She considered telling Shae, but she didn’t know her well enough.  
“Yea. I’m going to go down South.”  
“Don’t go to Florida. Death penalty and all.”  
“No, not that far. Down to DC. A city so big that even I can get lost.”  
Shae gave her a wary look, “Alright. Good luck.”  
“Thanks.”  
As Sansa walked away from campus, she spotted Myranda walking back to her dorm. She didn’t recognize her. Sansa continued walking.


	3. Chapter 3

The bus for Maine didn’t leave for another three hours. She told the woman at the desk that her name was Ned Garyen without missing a beat and nobody had given her a second glance so far. She felt almost confident when she stepped inside the coffee shot. A little caffeine in her was all she needed to scrub the exhaustion from her eyes. But any confidence melted away when she saw the newspaper. A picture of her was plastered on the front, with a blaring headline that read, “Golden Girl Murders Uncle in Aftermath of School Shooting.”  
She bought a copy. How could she not?  
The story outlined the shooting. 23 dead. Ramsay had passed away too, on route to the hospital. Her cheeks flamed red when she got to the point where Ramsay demanded fellatio from her. What would her father and mother think? Petyr Baelish was pronounced dead at the scene. She’d had 32 witnesses of her shooting him point blank. They even had one of her classmates interview.   
“She just stood up, face completely blank, caught sight of Professor Baelish standing up and raised the gun and shot him. We were all stunned and in too much shock to do anything.”  
The papers understand why she murdered Ramsay, but Petyr Baelish is where they were stumped. The Starks were a standup family, well-known in the North for their revolutionary business model for agriculture. Why would the oldest daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark, the so-called golden girl, murder her uncle? Her family could not be reached for comments. If anyone had any information on Sansa Stark, they were encouraged to call the police.

The bus ride was long and bumpy. She reread the paper and reread it again. Anxiety twisted her stomach. Her hands itched for her phone. She wanted to know what people were saying about her, what they thought. The case she’d been building against Petyr had all been on her phone and computer, besides some scattered thoughts scratched in a hidden notebook in her desk. They would never know her side of it. She recalled Shae’s voice. Some people deserve to die. She remembered looking up as Petry shoved into her, in and out. His hands crawling over her body. His excitement over her fear. What will they think of you? His oily voice echoed.  
Some people deserve to die.  
She needed to stop thinking of it, pack it away in a box. But it was an itch that would not go away.

It was dusk by the time she stepped off the bus. Almost night. But she felt more comfortable here. She’d grown up on these streets.  
She turned toward Winterfell but her steps halted. No. Not back there. Her family would turn her in in an instant. Even Robb was too honorable to let her stay hidden. And she couldn’t bear having to face any of it. She had to find a way to contact Arya without the rest of her family knowing.  
She walked to the nearby payphone and picked up the receiver. And then immediately slammed it back down again. She didn’t know Arya’s phone number. That was lost with the phone. She cursed her stupidity.  
She needed to cry. What was she doing? Could she really make it on her own? So far it had just been one mess after another. How was this supposed to be sustainable? She couldn’t even manage to think ahead an hour, let alone a year.  
And then it hit her. She’d visit The Hound.  
With any luck, Arya would be working tonight at the car repair shot. She’d be able to slip in unnoticed and grab her.   
The Hound was a car repair shop run by Sandor Clegane. To Sansa’s distaste, Arya had started working there when she was fourteen and loved it. And while she always found Sandor unsettling (he was so large and hardly ever said anything) him and Arya had always gotten on like two peas in a pod. And he did good work. She was never worried that he’d try and cheat her.  
It was nighttime by the time she arrived and with a sinking feeling she realized they were closed.  
She knocked anyway.  
Nothing.  
She knocked again.   
The door was jerked open roughly and Sandor stood there, glaring, “What?”  
Sansa didn’t dare look him in the eye for fear he’d recognize her, “Hello, is Arya here?”  
“What’s it to you?”  
Her mind fumbled for a lie, “I’m.. an old friend.”  
“I never seen you before.”  
“Do you have any way I could contact her? A phone maybe?”  
“I can’t give out that sort of information.”  
“Please, I just need something…”  
“I can’t help you. You can leave a message maybe.”  
A message. What would it even say? She’d been relying on being able to find Arya tonight. Everything had been a disaster. Nothing had gone to plan.  
Her words lodged in her throat and she found herself knowing that if she tried to speak, it would come out a sob. Sandor was still looking down at her. Their eyes locked for a moment.  
“You’re Sansa.” Sandor said, certainty filling his voice.  
Without her permission, her eyes filled with tears.  
He stared at her for a second.  
“Why don’t you come in?” He offered gruffly.  
She followed him inside.  
His apartment joined the Hound off to the side and while she’d always assumed it would look dirty and bedraggled, the interior was cosy, if a bit dark.  
She angrily wiped at her face, willing her tears away. They passed through the hallway, a small dining room and into the kitchen.  
All of a sudden she realized she’d walked into a strange man’s home. If she disappeared here, who would notice? She felt the knife in her pocket.  
“Are you hungry?”  
Her sandwich from this morning was long gone, “Yes.”  
He motioned toward the table and she sat down awkwardly. He moved around the kitchen, opening the fridge and putting something in the microwave.  
He set a plate down on the table and slapped a fork down as well.  
She stared at it.  
“Chicken enchilada.”  
“Oh.” She said, picking up the fork, “Thank you.”  
He grunted.  
It was delicious. A cheesy gooey concoction that perfectly blended tortilla, beans, and sauce.   
“This is fantastic.”  
He moved around the kitchen, cleaning up, but made no response.  
It was gone in a flash.  
“Another?”  
“I’m okay.”  
He took her plate and handed her a phone. He had a flip phone with Arya’s name pulled up  
Sansa had never used a flip phone before.  
She stared at the screen. What would she say? She couldn’t identify herself, she didn’t know who would be watching.  
“Could I just ask her to come into work for an emergency?”  
“Sure.”  
She sent the text and stared at the phone. No response. Arya was bad at responding on the phone in the best of times.  
Sandor hovered around her, the large man suddenly awkward as they both stared at the screen.  
“I don’t know if she’ll respond. She’s usually hanging around Gendry on Friday nights.”  
He didn’t appear to know what to say to that and all of a sudden she felt she owed him an explanation. He’d brought her in and fed her and hadn’t even asked any questions as to why she looked like this.  
“Do you know what happened?”  
He gave a slight nod, not looking her in the eye, “Arya told me. She’s worried about you.”  
“How is she?”  
“A spitfire like always.”  
Arya would have never let someone rape her. She would have reported Petyr, damn the consequences and if someone asked her non-consensually to suck their dick, she’d pull out some ancient krav maga technique.  
They stared at the phone in silence, which stubbornly stayed silent.  
“Do you have a place to stay tonight?” He asked.  
She shook her head, tears threatening again.  
He sighed, “Come on then.”  
She followed him into a study of sort with a desk in the corner, a tv on the wall with a gaming system and a futon across from it. He pulled it out into a bed.  
“It’s not much. Sorry.”  
“No, this is wonderful.” She set her backpack down.  
“There’s a bathroom in the hall on the right.”  
He left quickly and she wondered if that was it until he returned quickly with a handful of pillows and a blanket.   
“You’re too kind. This is too much, really.”  
“Do you need anything else?”  
“Nope, this is perfect.”  
“I’ll be upstairs. I will let you know when she responds.”  
He shuffled away awkwardly and she set up. He’d really brought back a ridiculous amount of pillows and she had to stack some on the armchair beside her.  
He was struck by his kindness. Without a word of complaint, or even words in general, he’d taken her in, fed her, and housed her. A terrible suspicion hit her that perhaps he planned to sell her out. Even if he was, what was she to do? She’d worked at the homeless shelter here, she might be able to escape there if the police pulled up. She pushed those thoughts down. Shae hadn’t sold her out, he might not either. Was she becoming paranoid?  
Her thoughts swirled, but still she fell asleep the second her head hit the pillow.  
Morning began to permeate the dark depths of her consciousness and just for a second, everything was alright. She was back at Harvard and that Thursday had never happened. But then her eyes cracked open and it all came rushing back. The fear, the disgust, Petry’s face as the bullet entered, as if he was still figuring out what had just happened. The sadness and anxiety hit her full force.  
Then, she began to smell. Wonderful scents of spices and roast tomatoes.  
She wanted to lay there. Go back under the covers and lie there forever. But that would be rude to ignore her host like that so she forced herself up and made her way to the kitchen. Sandor was wearing an apron.  
“Good morning.” She said flatly.  
“Arya hasn’t responded yet. I’ll shoot her another text after breakfast.”  
“Arya is Arya. She’ll respond when it best suits her.”  
“There is coffee if you want some.”  
“Oh thank you.”  
She got a mug just as he pulled out some biscuits from the oven.  
“Those look amazing.”  
No reply. He wasn’t much for talking. That was fine by her. She wasn’t much in a talking mood either.  
Sansa sat down at the table and he set down a plate in front of her.  
She dug in, “Holy crap, this is amazing. What is it?”  
“Roast tomato frittata, hash brown, and drop biscuit.”  
“You’re quite the cook.”  
“I just follow the recipes.”  
They ate in silence.  
He finished before her and set his dish in the sink.  
“Arya hasn’t responded yet. I’m going to go into the garage to finish some of the cars. Are you good here?”  
“Oh yea. All good. Is it okay if I watch TV?”  
“All yours.”  
The news was reporting on the aftermath of the shooting. There had been a silent vigil last night for the fallen students. She knew three of them.  
Three hours later she was still watching when Sandor appeared in the doorway, “Should you be watching that for so long?”  
They were suggesting on screen that perhaps she had worked together with Ramsay to orchestrate the event.  
She sighed and looked up at him, “Probably not.”  
“I’m making a sandwich, do you want one?”  
“I’d love one.”  
She sat down in the kitchen blankly staring at a wall. The families were calling for more gun control laws. Sansa Stark was still at large, with no clues to where she could have gone but the police were looking. Her Aunt Lysa could not be reached for comment.  
Sandor set a plate down in front of her, jolting her out of her head.  
“Are you okay?” He asked.  
“Yes.” She lied.  
“Do you want to talk about it?” He said it like nothing would please him less.  
“No. Thank you though.” I’ll spare you, she thought silently. “I’d prefer to get my mind off of it.”  
But during their silent lunch, it was all she thought about.  
He offered to take her plate and she assented.  
“You’ve been so kind. Is there anything I can do to help?” Too late she realized those words were literally how every porno started.  
He gave a low growl that she interpreted to be a sort of chuckle, “What do you know about cars?”  
She gave a wry smile, “Sometimes I fill my own gas tank. But I’m a fast learner.” Everyone always said so.  
“Are you sure you’re up for it?”  
“Sure.   
“You don’t have to.”  
“I don’t mind. It will give me something to do besides sit there and think.”  
And that was how she spent the afternoon learning about the different car parts with Sandor Clegane.  
Arya finally responded around four o’ clock. They crowded around the small phone screen.

Lol. I’m not coming into work on a weekend.

Sansa let out an exasperated sigh while Sandor only emanated a dismayed silence.  
Sansa leaned against the workbench. Her jeans were ripped and she had oil all over her hands. She barked out a laugh.   
Sandor stared at her questioningly.  
“God. Why is Arya like this? Stubborn to a fault.”  
He gave a shrug and she took the phone from his hands. It would have to be short. Something to pique curiosity.

It is important. Please come as soon as possible.

She handed it back and he looked at it and scoffed. And then they went back to work.  
The work wasn’t easy. But it was a lot less tedious than sitting down and writing a paper. Sandor didn’t speak unless he was pointing something out or asking her to do something. But he was a good teacher, and at the end of the day she knew a lot more than she had. She began to understand why Arya liked him so much.  
She took a shower afterward. She had too. She was caked with fumes and oil, and her hair had stiffened from the black wax. Her pillowcase was in ruins.  
His bathroom was pretty dingy, but not as bad as most college guys. And far better than any frat house. She wiped at the mirror, still getting used to her reflection. Ned Garyen. That was too obvious, she realized. Her father’s name plus her cousin’s last? No, that wouldn’t do. She’d have to pick something more plain.   
She’d borrowed a shirt from Sandor and even though she still had to wear her old jeans, she stepped out feeling a million times better.  
And downstairs, Sandor was cooking again.  
“Do you like stir-fry?”  
“Love it.”  
She found herself in such a good mood that she could even stomach a conversation.  
“So are you from Winterfell?”  
He sideyed her, “No.”  
“Where are you from?”  
“I’m from out West.”  
“Oh cool. Why did you move out here?”  
“I hated my family.”  
“Oh.” She could not think of how to respond to that, but then it dawned on her, “I hate parts of my family too.”  
He scoffed, “Which part? The perfect parents or the perfect siblings?”  
His vitriol made her recoil but she remembered all his past kindnesses and swallowed her disappointment, “Oh no, they’re all lovely.”  
Sansa had spent much of her life assessing the people around her and their unsaid thoughts that passed through their faces but not their words and just for a moment she thought she saw regret show on Sandor’s posture.  
He sat a plate in front of her, expressionless, “Would you like some wine?”  
“I’m good.” He poured himself a glass and then sat down himself.  
“Growing up I had a brother and a sister.”  
A queer expression had come across his face and somehow Sansa knew now was not the time to interrupt with pleasantries.   
“I was the middle child and my sister the youngest and we got on like no other. We had our fights every once in a while, sure, but we were friends. Gregor on the other hand… well. We lived in constant fear of him. He would beat us whenever given the opportunity. I’d always just avoided him but Alice was always braver than me. She was barely sixteen and I seventeen. And she made fun of Gregor for getting low grades in school and Gregor could never stand to be laughed at. So he went to his room, came downstairs, and shot her. Right in front of us at the dinner table.”  
Their food was sitting there, cold.  
“Sandor…” She began.  
He took a gulp of his wine, almost finishing the cup, “My father covered it up. He was charged with manslaughter. I don’t know what happened to my statement. My dad must have paid them off. And then I realized maybe that was why we grew up without a mother. What had truly happened to her? Was it really a car accident? I never knew and I’ll probably never know.”  
“I’m so sorry.”  
“Spare me.”  
“What did you do?”  
“Dropped out of high school and got the fuck out of there. Wasn’t about to die too. Apprenticed at another shop and saved up all my pennies and opened this.”  
“That was so brave of you.”  
“Brave? I didn’t do anything.”  
“You got out of there and made something for yourself.”  
“Gregor is in jail now for killing his first wife. I always wondered what would have happened if I hadn’t tucked my tail and ran. I wonder if I could have saved her.”  
“You were seventeen. You don’t know what would have happened and he sounds absolutely terrifying. You stood up and took control of your life.”  
He finished off his glass and stared at her, “Is that what you did, little bird?”  
His words hit her like a wall, “I-I…”  
“You?”  
“I think I’ll have some wine.”  
She stood up and got a glass.  
Sandor had resumed eating.  
The dark red juice slid across her tongue and she winced. Even with the excessive partying with Margery, she still hadn’t gotten used to the taste.  
“Uncle Petyr was married to my Aunt Lysa.” She played with the food on her plate. It no longer looked as appetizing.  
“I took his government class. Just to fill an elective. I didn’t know he was a bad person, I always thought he was so nice.”  
Sandor was silent.  
“And well, he wasn’t. He forced me to have sex with him, give him blowjobs. And I hate giving blowjobs. But if I didn’t, he said he’d tell everyone. Throw my name in the mud. And my Aunt Lysa would hate me and the campus would hate me and my entire family would be disgusted, and so,” She took a breath, to steady her trembling voice, “So I shot him.”  
She looked down at her food, not daring to look him in the eye.  
“Good for you.” He said.  
She looked up at him.  
“That was gutsy. If I was braver I would have shot Gregor so he didn’t have the chance to hurt anyone else.”  
I don’t feel brave, she wanted to say. I’m scared all the time. I feel dirty and muddy and gross on the inside. Instead she just took another gulp of wine.  
The rest of dinner passed in silence.  
“I can do the dishes.” She mentioned, “It’s the least that I can do.”  
“Oh. Okay.”  
He turned to go, “I normally play video games right about now, is that okay?”  
“Oh, of course.”  
She found him in her room sitting on a chair. She sat down on the bed and twiddled her thumbs. He didn’t have many books and she wasn’t about to read that goddamned newspaper again.  
“Do you want to play?”  
“Oh. Sure.” Jon and Robb had been really into Minecraft and sometimes she’d watch Harry play Fortnite but she’d never truly been a gamer by any sense of the word, “I’m not good though.”  
“That’s fine.” He handed her a controller.  
And that was how Sansa found out she was absolutely terrible at video games.  
She was about to knife one of the psychos when she heard the door open. Loud thuds of boots indicated that someone was coming. Sandor paused the game and stood up and fear shot through her. Had he sold her out anyway? The police were looking for her. There was a back door, she could grab the backpack and run. Sandor walked out the room and she moved to grab it until-  
“My entire family is in a state right now, this better be goddamn important.”  
“It is.” Came the reply.  
Sansa leapt out of the room to shove Sandor aside to envelop her sister a bone crushing hug.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I always loved the dynamics between these two sisters. One thing I think George really got across was that Arya was kinda jealous of Sansa but not really the other way around, but I like to think they both have traits that the other wished they had.  
> Sansa wants to be fearless like Arya and Arya wants to be as polished as Sansa. They're reflections of each other, essentially.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was not an easy one. Capturing the essence of Arya through dialogue is not easy. Also I don't have any siblings and Sansa and Arya dynamics are just so singular.

“Sansa!” Arya screeched in her ear, “What are you doing here?”

Sansa just pulled her tighter, tears pricking her eyes “I was looking for you. Had to find a way to find you.”

“Are you okay? I hear what happened with Ramsay. Sansa, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. I know. But i’m okay. Truly.”

“Are you sure? You just disappeared. People have been looking everywhere.”

“I had to get out of there. What’s happening back home? How is everyone? Mom? Dad?”

“Dude they’re all freaking out. Are you sure you’re okay? I mean...” She drifted off, her grey eyes bore into her, questioning. Why would you shoot our Uncle?

Sansa gave a shaky sigh, “Why don’t we sit down?”

Arya made them tea and Sansa told her the whole story, starting with the glances and ending with the bullet.  
By the end Arya was shaking. She stood up, punching her hand.

“Fucking cunt.”

“Arya-”

“I hope he is burning in hell where he belongs! A bullet was too quick for him. You should have-”

Sansa had been as angry as her at one point. She’d wanted to smash Petyr’s head against the wall, rip off his cock with her teeth. Sometimes she would be studying and she’d remember his smirk above her and she would shake with anger. But somehow it had all drained out of her that day. She searched for it and it just wasn’t there.”  
When she had tired herself out, Arya sat back down.

“How’d you get off campus? The police presence was huge.”

“I dunno. Just walked off. Cut off all my hair and bought a bus ticket out of there.”

“I’m sorry about Baelish. For real. He was a snake and none of us saw it. Dad would have strangled him if you hadn’t gotten to him first.”

Sansa avoided her gaze, “What’s happening back home?”

Another person might have softened the story, but this was Arya and Sansa knew she was telling the whole truth.  
“It’s bonkers. Mom is freaking out. You were always her favorite. She literally drove all the way down to Harvard the second she heard. She’s staying with Aunt Lysa, who by the way, is batshit right now.”

“She hates me.”

Arya gave her a quick glance, “Yes. Mom won’t tell us anything she’s saying but I overhead enough of a conversation with Robb to know it's bad.”

She felt sick to her stomach with the knowledge of the pain she had caused her aunt. She wondered if Aunt Lysa would ever understand who she had truly married. Probably not.

“Robb’s come back from college. He might take the semester off. He and Jon are taking care of Bran and Rickon and doing their best to keep the family together but the press is all over us. They’ve been harassing us left and right, the fucking sharks, even Rickon. Dad had to call the cops on them to get them off our property. I had to pepper spray one of them because he was following me home.”

She sounded proud but a sick feeling had grown in Sansa’s stomach. She’d brought this down on her family. All of that was her fault.

“Dad has stayed back in Winterfell so far but he plans to drive down and meet mom soon. He’s worried sick about you, saying how he never truly trusted Baelish. He’s completely on your side. We all are. Dad’s hired a private investigator to find you.”

A private investigator. She thought of the phone and laptop she left behind in the bush with all the hair, “A PI?”

“Yea. A good one too. He’s determined to find you and bring you back home.”

She came to a realization, “Shit. Then I have to get out of here.”

“Sandor’s?”

“No, I mean the town. The name I used for the bus ticket was Ned Garyen. They’ll be able to track me.”

“You’re not staying?”

“I can’t face them. Aunt Lysa’s anguish. Father and mother’s disappointment. There will be a trial, evidence. Public details that I don’t want anyone to know about. I’ll probably go to jail. And the level of scrutiny, of everyone knowing... I don’t even think they’ll believe me.”

Arya chewed on her lip, “Then let’s go.”

The simplicity and matter-of-factness in her voice made her brain stall, “You want to come with me?”

“You think I’d let you go on an adventure like this without me?”

“It’s not an adventure, Arya, I’m disappearing forever. I can’t go back.”

“You can’t expect that I’d let you do this alone? No. Starks stick together. I’m coming with you.” Arya had that fierce, stubborn look in her eye that she always got when she made up her mind about something.

“What about your education? You haven’t finished high school.”

“You haven’t finished college.”

“But I got myself into this huge mess. I don’t exactly want to do this. You still have a chance to make something of yourself.”

Arya parodied her voice, “Make something of myself.” She scoffed, “I hated all those tests and quizzes more than anything. That was always your arena. I doubt a diploma is really going to have a huge impact on my future.”

“A diploma is everything! That’s how you get hired and find opportunities and-”

“I’ve forgotten half of the things they taught me anyway. And you don’t need a diploma to be a car mechanic.”

“How can you want to be a car mechanic? It’s not-” And then Sansa remembered how kind Sandor had been to her and how he was probably in the other room listening in and the word dignified died on her lips.

Arya barreled through her silence, “It’s what? Not fancy enough? Not a high enough horse? Well pardon me for not wanting to go to medical school and be miserable for eight years just so I can make a six figure salary.”

“I want to help people!”

“Yea, but the six figures makes it a lot easier for you, amiright?”

The fury that swept through her was instantaneous, “God, you’re dense! I had a meaningful future planned out and I was going to-” She recollected herself. They shouldn’t be fighting right now, “Listen. I want you to come with me. Dearly. But coming with me means you have to give it all up. Friends, school, sports, our family. What about Gendry?”

Arya was silent for a second, “I will miss Gendry.” She admitted, “He was definitely one of a kind. But I don’t know if we were really going to go anywhere. And either way, it’s my life to give up. I’m coming with you.”

Sansa had words, many more of them. But this was Arya, stubborn as a mule and then some. None of them would move her. And a big part of Sansa didn’t want her to change her mind at all.

Arya filled in her silence “Listen, you need me. I can help you. Both the police and PIs are after you and if we work together we can evade them.”

Sansa picked at her cuticles, “I’m not saying I agree. Not at all. I think you’re giving up your whole life on a whim. But theoretically, if you were to come, where would we start?”

Arya grinned, “First things first, we have to get out of Maine. They’ll be crawling all over the area, checking with all of our friends. We need to do something unexpected.”

Sansa tapped her fingers on the table, “We could head out west maybe. Lot’s of space.”

“Maybe. It has to be completely random. “We should leave the US completely.”

“Leave America?” Sansa wasn't sure. It was a big step.

“Canada maybe? It’s close by and they speak English. We could blend in. It would at least give us a starting point we could work off of.”

“That would work possibly. But there’s a border. We’re going to have to find a way to cross it.”

“What sort of documentation do they need?” Arya asked, “I’ve got a fake ID.”

Sansa arched an eyebrow toward her, “Since when?”

“Me and Myrcella got one a couple months back for her birthday so we could bar hop.”

“Did it work?”

Arya shrugged, “Well enough. I don’t know if it would hold up to like, actual scrutiny. I don’t really look like the girl in the picture. Either way, it took a couple weeks to get, and we don’t have that time.”

Sansa pulled out Arya’s phone to check the requirements, “Either way, we’d need a passport.”

“How tight can border security be? There’s gotta be a way around.” Arya grabbed her phone back, “We’ll hike over there.”

Sansa peered over her shoulder as she pulled up a map.

“The International Appalachian Trail. I hiked part of it with father and Robb last year. I doubt they have border stations set up and even if they do, I’m sure we can get around them.”

Sansa studied the path they would take, “It might work, but I haven’t been hiking in a long time. How far is it?”

Arya zoomed into the map, “It depends on where we want to stop. I’m guessing around two or three weeks to reach the border. More depending on where we’re trying to settle. There’s a small town right on the border, but that’s pretty conspicuous. We should find a town farther away and more remote.”

“People talk a lot in small towns. Might be better to get lost in a city.”

“Yea but in a city more people pass through. Gives us a greater chance of being recognized.”

Sansa frowned and grabbed the phone back from her tracing the trail, “Kedgwick.” She announced, “Farther long the trail but not too close. A small city with a population large enough that everyone doesn’t know everyone.”

Arya scanned through the town, “This’ll work.”

“We can lie low there away, get our feet under us and move on if anyone gives us strange looks."

“It’s farther away. Around a six week hike. Maybe two months.”

“And the only gear I have on me right now is a backpack, a knife and like, some hair dye.”

“Ha. Well, at least you have the hair dye.” Arya’s foot jiggled under the table, “We’re going to need money.”

“I have $880 left.”

“Lol.” Arya snorted, “I’m going to have to find a way to tap into the family funds.”

“But that’s stealing.”

“You killed Petyr!”

“Yeah, but that was an accident.”

Arya looked at her, “We’re going to need money to survive. That might cover food for the trail, but when we get there we’re going to need money for a hotel until we can find a place. And it’s unlikely that we’ll get jobs right away. We’re going to need some sort of fall back.”

She was right, Sansa knew. But stealing from her own family gave her a gross feeling. Dirty, “Yeah.”

“I’m not thrilled about it either. But father can afford it.”

He’ll be more concerned about the disappearance of his daughters, she thought silently. The guilt came sudden. She was running off so she wouldn’t have to face the world but her disappearance had consequences for her family. And now Arya was coming with her. Their parents would be devastated.  
She kept her thoughts to herself.

“But my concern is how to get the money. I can’t exactly just steal his credit card.”

“No, they’d track us instantly. We might just have to carry around cash.”

Arya sighed, “Yikes. That’s bad for the long term. At some point we’re going to have to find a way to open a bank account.” She slammed the laptop closed, “God, why is life so complicated nowadays?”

Sansa was having second thoughts. But she’d already come so far and finally she had an outline for the future. It was too late to change her mind now, “Are we trying to leave tonight?”

Arya chewed on her lip, “Even if they’ve tracked you to Maine this won’t be the first place they’d look. I’m guessing that gives us some time, and although I don’t want to risk it I’m going to need at least a couple hours to gather the necessary material for a hike of this distance.”

“So tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow morning. Earlier the better. The closest trailhead is two to three hours away, I’ll get Sandor to drive us.”

Sansa lowered her voice, “We have to be careful with him. The less he knows of our plans the better.”

“Sandor would never sell us out.”

“No, but they will question him. They wouldn’t have looked here when I went missing but they’ll definitely question him if you disappear.”

“He wouldn’t say anything.”

“Even so.”

Arya typed on the laptop, “There’s an inn a little ways across from the trail. We can stop there for breakfast. He’s not going to ask questions but it’s still close enough for him to-”

Arya’s phone rang. She looked at it, “Figure out where we’re going. It’s Robb.”

“Take it.”

She sighed and answered. Sansa strained her ears to hear.

“You need to come home.” Oh, how she longed to take the phone from her and talk to him! He was always so strong, always protected her and looked out for her at school. But then he’d gone to Berkeley and she to Harvard and there hadn't been anyone there.

“I just have a couple more things to do at the shop.”

“Come home. Father is getting worried. He wants all of us close by just in case something happens.” 

“It’s not curfew yet.”

“It’s dark out and these reporters are freaking vicious. Curfew changed. We should all stick together at a time like this.” She wanted to ask him how senior year was going, if he was still dating that girl Jeyne and how it was going.

“Christ, now you’re just repeating dad’s words. 

Sansa motioned for her to go. No need to sow even more discord in her family. Arya fanned her away.

“I just can’t believe you’re arguing with me. Over this.”

“I just have a few more things to do.”

“You can finish it in the morning. Your family needs you here.”

Sansa mouthed, “Go.”

Arya rolled her eyes, “Fine. Fine, I’m on my way.”

“Thank you.”

Click.

“He’s got this alpha complex now. It’s driving me crazy.”

“You should go home and be with them. What time will you be here in the morning?”

“I’m aiming for six or seven. Do you have anything in particular you want me to get?”

She could think of a lot of things. Her box of memories, her Jane Austen collection, the crystal ballerinas that her father had gotten her for her sixteenth birthday.  
“Just whatever you think I’ll need for camping.”

She walked her little sister out, “Can you leave them a note? Before you leave?”

“Yeah. What do you want it to say?”

Thoughts swirled in her mind. “Just… tell them I’m okay and that I’m sorry for all the trouble and I didn’t mean for this to happen.” She had more words, but they died on her lips.

“Yea. I’ll tell them.”

Sansa gathered her sister in her arms, “See you tomorrow.”

But with Arya gone her reservations grew louder, roaring in her years.  
Aunt Lysa had always followed Petyr around. Ever since they were children, mom always said. She couldn’t do anything without mentioning his name. She thought about her mother, and how sick with worry she must be. Her father and how fair and kind he’d always been. She was paying him back with lies and betrayal. Her brothers who were sweet and wild and crazy but always there at the end of the day. And now she was stealing money from them. She felt disgusting.

She walked into her room. Sandor was still playing.

“I hear that I’m giving you a ride at the ass crack of dawn tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

Sansa sat there in silence and blankly watched him shoot at something.

“Umm… would you like to play?”

“Not right now, thanks though.”

She went to the bathroom to dye her hair again and stared into the mirror. What was the name she had decided on? She couldn’t even recall.

The fear was still there but guilt had begun to take hold. She’d been so concerned with herself that she hadn’t realized how much pain she was causing her family. Robb was taking a semester off, Bran and Rickon harassed by the press. Her parents…. She was disappearing because it was convenient for her. And now she was taking Arya with her. The Starks, the proud, standup family of the North would be missing their daughters.  
Could she leave her family in disarray because she was afraid? It was selfish.  
She tried to convince herself that even if she reappeared it would only make things worse. It didn’t work.  
Sleep came slow.

Petyr always wanted her to ride him in his office. She stared out the window, willing her mind away from here. He might have her body but her mind and dignity were locked tight, in a castle he could never reach. But Petyr wanted her to look at him, reminded her of her aunt. So she grit her teeth and willed her eyeline down, staring through him. It would be over soon. But even as she saw without seeing, her eyes caught something strange in his forehead. A hole had begun to grow, a projectile sprouting out. Blood began to run down his face. She tried to get off, tried to run and flee but she was stuck there. Moving up and down his cock as the bullet entered through his skull.  
The door of his office slammed open and she fell to the floor, naked and afraid. No one must know! The door was supposed to be locked!   
Ramsay stood there. His eyes were black, maniacal and he had assault rifles strapped to his back. She clutched her hands to her breasts, trying to cover herself but he still advanced forward.

“Come here golden girl.” He snarled.  
And then he was shaking her, jerking her up and down and a strangled cry came from her lips.

“Sansa, wake up!”

She broke into consciousness. Her blurry eyes revealed Arya, concerned grey eyes and short hair. Her blankets were tangled and twisted around her feet and sweat dripped from her temples.  
A dream. It was only a dream.  
She was alive and well and she’d survived Baelish and she’d survived Bolton and she was alive and it was only a dream.  
Her heart beat in her chest.

“Are you okay?”

Sansa took a deep breath, “Yes.” She said it again, just to convince herself, “Yes.”

“Alright.” Arya gave her a worried glance, “You know you can talk to me about it right?”

“Of course.” Maybe she would, in time. When the wounds weren’t so fresh. When she had a moment of peace to just breathe.

“Okay. My ears are open, really.”

“What time is it?”

“Around six. I’ve got all the stuff and anything we forgot we can buy while on the trail. Your backpack sucked for hiking, so I’m giving you dad’s.”

“Fine.” Sansa said dully. The dream had left her with a lingering sense of exhaustion.The waves of emotions had subsided, but they’d washed her out leaving her a husk.  
Arya had various items laid out on the floor and was sorting through them. There was a stack of cash in the corner. Maybe in a different state, she would have been surprised or disgusted or have an emotion but instead she just said flatly, “That’s a lot of money.”

“I didn’t want us to run out. I’ve also got some jewelry. Help me back your bag.”

They worked in silence. Arya had thought of everything. They had water purifying pills, sleeping bags, hats. Her new stage of life would be as a turtle, carrying everything on her back.  
Arya went to wake Sandor up and he came downstairs still sleepy, wearing superman pajamas.

The car ride was silent. Sandor still appeared half asleep and Arya used the time to take a nap. Sansa wondered if she’d slept at all last night and decided probably not.   
Around 9:30 they arrived at the bed and breakfast. It was a cute little inn, painted a cheerful yellow. There was a flower garden out front.

Sandor tilted the rear-view mirror to look at her, “Are you going to be okay?”

“I’ll be just fine. I’ve got Arya.”

Sandor gave a nod.  
She slipped out of the car and opened the passenger seat to wake her sister.  
Sandor had gotten their bags from the trunk and handed it to them.

“You guys be safe now.”

“Me?” Arya asked, “Always.”

“Good helpers are hard to come by.”

Arya launched himself into his arms, “I’ll miss you.”

Sandor looked very concerned someone was hugging him. He stood there awkwardly and it was only after a moment that he relaxed.  
Arya retracted. She was sniffling.

“Thank you Sandor, really.” She said. It wasn’t enough. He’d done so much for her and Arya, “I don’t know how we will ever repay you.”

“No need.” He said gruffly.

And they headed over to the inn.  
Buttermilk pancakes. With actual, real maple syrup. None of that fake stuff. And sausage with hard boiled eggs that weren’t overcooked. Coffee strong enough to chew.  
It was enough for them to forget their sadness for just a little while as they stuffed their face.

“-the worst thing. Especially since I saw it coming a mile away.”

Her ears picked up on a voice that she recognized. Where had she heard it before? She looked up, searching the room. Who was that?  
A woman and a dwarf entered the room, hand in hand.  
Sansa looked down at her plate, hoping they wouldn’t notice but she felt his eyes scanning the room, skipping their table and then coming back to puzzle them out.  
He recognized Arya first and then his gaze fell on her and stayed. She studied her half eaten pancake. The syrup was soaking into the different layers, mixing with the whipped cream.  
He continued conversing with the woman next to him and Sansa hoped that maybe he hadn’t truly recognized them. But a glance upward showed he was making a beeline for their table.  
Sansa elbowed Arya. She had her mouth full, “What?”  
She gave her a look and nudged with her chin toward the approaching couple.  
Arya looked up just as they arrived at the table.

“The Stark girls.” Tyrion Lannister announced, “What in the world are you doing here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enter Tyrion Lannister.
> 
> The next chapter will a beast to write because he's such a complex intelligent character.
> 
> Thank you all for your lovely comments, I read them with so much anticipation and happiness.


	5. Chapter 5

He was a person whose acquaintance was so strange and vague that for him to recognize them anywhere was astounding, let alone at an inn 180 miles away from home. His very presence was altogether so unexpected that Sansa and Arya could only greet him with an openmouthed silence, Arya’s mouthful of food forgotten.

Undeterred, Tyrion brought the woman next to him forward by the hand.“Allow me to introduce my wife Tysha. Her mother owns this lovely establishment.”

“How do.” Tysha said kindly, and smiled down at them. Sansa liked her instantly before snuffing that train of thought out. She’d liked Petyr too. First impressions could lie.

“Tysha, this is Sansa and Arya Stark. I defended their mother a while back and got all the charges dropped. And Sansa dated my useless nephew for a whole six months back in the day.”

“A whole six months!” Tysha exclaimed, “How could you bear it?”

That was three people that could place them near the trail, three witnesses that could be brought forward to trace their path. Even if Sandor kept his mouth shut, she highly doubted Tyrion would. They either needed to change plans or move quickly.

“Actually, Arya and I were just leaving.” She moved to pick up her bags

“Oh, you don’t want to do that. ” Tyrion said casually, sitting down, “It will not do for old acquaintances to meet in such an unexpected way and not tell each other of their adventures. Lindsay!” He called the waitress over, “Some coffee for me, and I’ll have the number four with the eggs over easy.”

“The same for me please.” Tysha said, before settling down as well.

They were acting so nonchalant that it felt strangely rude to walk away. Sansa opened her mouth to excuse them but was interrupted.

“Oh, and can we have this table all on the same check?”

The waitress nodded before bustling away.

“Don’t look so worried. I shall be the one to pay, not you.”

“Are you going to tell on us?” Arya demanded.

Tyrion drummed his fingers on the table, his mismatched gaze studying them, “Well, I was going to start us off with pleasantries before getting into it, but I can see you’re not interested in that. No, I do not plan to mention your presence here.”

It was not as clear of a no as Sansa would have liked, “Then I thank you. But we really should get going.” She began collecting their bags.

“Are you sure about that?” He asked. Their coffee had arrived and he took a sip, “I am a lawyer you know. A partner in a law firm which I know doesn’t sound like much, but it is a pretty big deal.”

“No, that’s okay.” She said, “I’m not looking for a lawyer.”

“Not looking for a lawyer!” Tysha said, “You should be, I think.”

“I heartily agree my dear. But given that she is not and the abundance of hiking equipment they have, I have come to the conclusion that they do not plan to return to their lives as of just yet.”

Tysha looked as if she was trying to hide her sorrow behind a smile, “Everyone could always use some fresh air.”

“I wouldn’t return either if I had been abused by my uncle.”

Sansa’s hand paused as it fastened the strap on her backpack, “Why do you think that?”

“Well, by your reaction for one. And I recalled that I had met your uncle, briefly, when I defended your mother. Just for a quick conversation but I remembered a certain oiliness about him. And I didn’t like the way he looked at your mother. It wasn’t a difficult conclusion to come to. Now come, have breakfast with us and I shall discover if you are worthy of my services.”

Sansa recalled another man in her past that had asked her to sit down, “I don’t need your help.”

“I didn’t say that you need my help. I’m saying I need yours.”

“Us?” Arya asked, “What could you possibly want from us?”

“The case of a lifetime.” Tyrion said.

“We don’t want to be a case.” Sansa said, “We want to leave.”

“And leave you shall be free to do.” Tyrion gestured with his hands, “But I have advice for you either way. Don’t want to return? I know all the identity laws.”

Arya looked surprisingly hesitant, “Should we give him a chance? Tommen and Myrcella really like him and one time when he picked them up and did a backflip for us.”

What was her reasoning? Sansa stared down at her little sister, “Is everyone who does a backflip to be trusted? No. He’s just going to try and convince us to go back.” 

Tyrion laid his hands on the table, “Here’s the deal. I am a lawyer. I spent three years at Harvard and far more working my way up the hierarchy. I know the ins and outs of the laws and how best to work the system. Allow me to offer a fresh perspective on your situation. You two are on your own right now and I’m not a bad ally to have. Let me attempt to help you. If I can’t, Tysha and I will allow you to go along your merry way and nobody will be none the wiser about your presence here.”

Their food came out and there was silence until Lindsay had cleared away. 

Sansa grit her teeth, “Another man once said the same thing to me. He told me to sit down and listen to him and by the end of the speak I let him rape me.”

Arya went silent next to her and Tysha was fiddling with her knife and fork, but Tyrion’s eye contact did not waver, “I have many defaults in my life, Tysha knows. I drink too much and I’m a workaholic. Worst of all, I am a Lannister. But I do not go out of my way to hurt people and I am always certain of consent in all aspects of my life, but especially the bedroom.”

“He does.” Tysha said.

“My father says words are wind and that anyone can say anything.”

“Well, your father was always good with the truth. If Tysha’s vouch is not good enough, I beg you to remember your lady mother. She found an ally in me when she was accused of negligence in her car crash. I got the charges dismissed for her, saving her quite a bit of face and money.”

Sansa did remember that. How anxious her mom had been and the constant emails and phone calls. And then one day Catelyn Tully had been herself again, smiling and cheery, with gentle smiles and good advice.

“Just five minutes of your time.”

“Fine.” She sat down, “Five minutes. But after that, we leave.”

Tyrion cut into his eggs, “So you’re goal is to run away and join the circus. Not a half bad plan, I wanted to do it many times in my youth. The first thing you guys would need to do is find a sustainable life. Get a place to live, find a job. Support yourself, basically. Can you do that?”

Arya nodded vigorously, “I could be a mechanic and Sansa’s good with kids. She could be a nanny or a teacher or something.”

“Probably couldn’t be a teacher without a college degree, but a nanny might work. And what about the residence? I’m guessing you don’t have a card on you. It might be difficult finding a person who will accept cash for rent.”

Arya shrugged, “We’ll find a place.” 

“Well, you could always live in the tent. After you find yourself mildly sustainable, you’ll need a social security number. You assuredly can’t use your old one. You’re going to have to call up the Social Security Administration and somehow either convince them that your parents were some sort of hippies and you’re a hidden child, or bribe your way into a new number.”

Arya had resumed eating her pancakes, “We could totally do that.”

Tysha laughed, “I doubt it is that easy.”

“Probably not.” Arya shrugged, “But we’ll take it one step at a time.”

“Once you both have social security numbers you could get a driver's license, credit card, and then a passport. From there the world is your oyster. You’d have to move a lot though. The police would always be looking for you. No close friends, no family. It’s difficult to maintain those sorts of relationships when you’re in hiding.”

“We have each other.” Arya said.

“Or you could go back to our old lives. Return to your mother and father and brothers. Face the consequences and move on with your current lives. Graduate college, start a life, write a book-”

“See, I told you he’d get there. No. We’re not going back.” Sansa said flatly.

A strange look passed over Tyrion’s face, “Tysha, I have heard that Arya is quite the mechanic. If you showed her the washing machines I bet she could fix them.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Arya looked eager. She loved fixing things.

“They’re not draining properly.” Tysha said.

“Oh, I can totally fix that.” Her eyes went back to Tyrion and Sansa, “But I’m not sure…”

“It would be such a great help.” Tysha said, “It’s taking so long to dry out our sheets.”

Arya glanced at Sansa who gave a slight nod, “Just… be back soon.”

Sansa turned to Tyrion and stared at him blankly. She had nothing to say to him.

Tyrion looked at her and sighed, “When I was a younger man, just out of law school, you came over for dinner. You seemed a decent and respectable girl, although a bit blind. It was obvious you were half in love with my idiot nephew and even had the utmost respect for my sweet sister. You stayed and laughed and made doe-eyed expressions at Joffrey and I figured you were just like all the other airheads he’d brought back. But you broke up with him and must have done a spectacular job of it because he hated you so much that he planted evidence against you for cheating and stealing from the teachers.”

“Now these charges were worth expulsion or at least a suspension. I felt bad for you, as you’d seemed so sweet, but it wasn’t my fight and my sweet sister had an iron grip on the PTA and the principal as well. There was nothing to be done. I figured you’d be expelled and that was that.”

He took a sip of coffee and continued, “But then I hear that you’d managed to get together all the girls he’d tormented, all the teachers who hated him, even the boys he’d bullied. All of them, together, to appeal to the principal. Letters and emails and grievances flowed in. So many of them that your case was thrown out and Joffery was suspended for lying. A month later, Cersei was forced to step down as president of the PTA. And all of it stemmed… from you.”

She was flattered that he would remember and her cheeks warmed from the praise. She remembered all of it like it was yesterday.

“I’m not going to insult you by talking down to you. You’re a sensible enough girl to recognize you have a good case. A traumatized woman is assaulted and in her shock, kills her other rapist. Anyone with a half-brain could defend you. And my brain is at full capacity. You’ll get off free of any charge.”

Was he telling the truth? He could be lying to get her as his client, “Are you certain?”

“There might be some community service. Maybe a fine. But no jail time. You saved Harvard from a school shooter. Everyone will respect that. Especially the judge.”

“I murdered my uncle too. Perhaps if it was just Ramsay, it wouldn’t be so bad. But Petyr was loved by that school.”

“And who told you that? Petyr?”

“I mean, yes, but he was tenured and knew a lot of people and-”

“Do you have any proof that he abused you?”

She nodded slightly, “I took some recordings on my phone. A statement in my computer.”

“Then that is evidence enough. You have no record of any previous tomfoolery?”

“One time I got a parking ticket.”

“The judge will look at your blank state, look at your motives and rule your way. I can see it now.”

Sansa shook her head, “My Aunt Lysa is in the picture. As much as she loved Petyr is as much as she hates me now. She’ll find the best lawyers, the best arguments. She’d bribe the judge. She won’t stop.”

“You overestimate how much power your Aunt has. Your case is rock-solid. We could plead temporary insanity, or self-defence. I mean, how could you know Baelish wasn’t going to turn on you? You didn’t. In the courtroom there is very little leeway that she could have.”

“Then you underestimate how much she hates me right now.”

“And you underestimate my law skills. I will take her into account, ensure we get you the most trustworthy judge. Either way, she won’t be the one that has the best lawyer, you will.”

Sansa picked at her pancakes, “Even if you’re as good as you say, we’ve made up my mind to go.”

“Decisions can be changed.”

“Not this one.”

Tyrion gazed at her thoughtfully. She could see him trying to figure her out. She hoped Arya would be back soon. They needed to get going.

“I know going back is going to be difficult, but you will not be alone.”

“I would be the ones to face the cameras. I’m the one the reporters would harass. I’m the one who will feel the stares on my back long into the future. How would I not be alone?”

“Because I will be there, with my firm, ensuring the best outcome. Your family will be there, supporting you. Arya took off to run away with you. Do you really think she wouldn’t have my back?”

“How do you think you will feel? Listening to my statement? Going through all the paperwork. Having to hear my backstory into how I let my Uncle rape me? People love stories like mine. I’m not dumb. I know it will blow up. Hell, it already has.”

He quirked his head, “Then we will make the media work for us. Obscure some details, emphasize others."

"I’m Sansa Stark. Second daughter of Ned and Catelyn Stark. The golden girl. I was the one to look up to, the one to set a good example. It doesn't matter if we change a detail or two. They’ve found out I’m a murderer and a whore in a scandal that will stick to me for a lifetime.”

“You inflate your importance. People move on. Bigger, more scandalous things will pop up and after a while people will forget. And once we get your story out there, no one will see you like that-”

“They will!” Sansa said forcefully, “They will. And those that don't despise me will pity me. I saw the way Tysha looked at me. It was hidden behind her smile. She was sad for me. She pitied me. You think I want their pity? You think I need it? Joffery came up against me, I got him suspended. Harry cheated on me? Got kicked off as captain of the soccer team. Petyr and Ramsay want to rape me? They’re dead.”

“You did. And it’s something to be proud of.”

“They won’t see it that way.”

“That’s why we’ll control the narrative. Frame the story to put you in the best light.”

“You can't control every news source. All I know is that going back is going to be a freight train, and you’re not the one that’s going to be hit by it.”

He gave her a look, “Sansa, I want you to look at me and tell me what you see.”

She looked him up and down, “A Lannister.”

He scoffed, “And were no two words ever said with such malice! Yes, a Lannister. But before even people know that of me, they see a dwarf. An ugly, stunted dwarf with mismatched eyes and crooked facial features. I’m not pleasant to look upon.”

This was true, Sansa could agree.

“People call me imp, midget, or talk down to me like I’m a child. Or they think I’m a simpleton and get horribly angry when they find out they’re wrong. Tall men cannot bear to be outwitted by a dwarf they consider less than them. But at the end of the day, I’m still myself. My body is my own and my brain is my own and it is still me that wakes up in the mansion I bought with the money I earned as a lawyer with my beautiful wife beside me. People say nasty, horrible things all the time to me but it doesn’t change who I am. And people are going to say and think nasty terrible things about you, I won’t lie to you. But at the end of the day, it’s still you. And you’re tough enough to withstand all of them and more.”

She thought about his answer for a second, “Do you know empathy?”

He shrugged, looking a bit lost, “Sure.”

“Putting yourself in other people’s shoes? Well, when I put myself in other people's shoes, I want them to see me as a good person. I just want them to like me so bad.”

“People’s opinions change by the day. They’re fickle and changeable and what they think has no bearing on you.”

“You’re wrong. How you look and how people view you does matter. It affects how you’re treated and where you go in life.”

Tyrion laughed, “Well, you’re more honest than my brother Jamie. He likes to pretend that the opinions of people are beneath him.”

Sansa shook her head, “Everyone cares what people think about them. If they say they don’t, they’re lying. And when I think about going back my stomach rebels and I taste bile.”

“You’re afraid.” Tyrion observed, “I would be too in your situation. But the only way to stop that fear is going back and facing up to everything. If you run away that fear and anxiety will say and grow. You are strong enough to survive Joffery, Ramsay, and Baelish and you are strong enough to go back and deal with this, I know you are.”

“When I think about leaving, becoming a new person, the fear fades. I can breathe. Going back, the idea of seeing the pity in mom and dad’s eyes...”

“If you run away now, you will let this incident define the rest of your life. If you go back, find justice, tell your story, people will move on. I know it doesn’t seem that way, but people forget. This will blow over."

“Maybe for a while. But when you search my name in Google, this is all you will find."

“You’re Sansa Stark. Do you think this incident is all you will amount to? That you’re not going to do anything newsworthy ever again? You gave Baelish and Ramsay what they deserved. Don’t you think you should get what you deserve? Some peace. A future. You’re meant for greater things than running away to the end of the earth.”

In front of them, Tysha was walking in with Arya trailing behind.

“Everything good here?” Tysha asked.

He kissed her on the cheek, “Just fine my sweets. How is the laundry machine?”

“Working like a charm. Arya did something with the drainage pipe.”

“Are you okay?” Arya whispered.

“Let’s go.” She mumbled to her.

They grabbed their bags.

“Oh, before you go.” Tyrion handed her something, “My card. In case you ever need me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God this chapter was a freaking pain. Writing a character that is smarter than you is so difficult. I went back and edited my Shae chapter. Could be worth another read. 
> 
> Either way, one more (very short) chapter to wrap things up.


	6. Chapter 6

“What did Tyrion want to talk about?” Arya asked once they had left the inn.

“More of the same stuff.” Sansa said shortly.

“Oh, okay. Anything of use?”

“Not really.”

They walked in silence along the road. It was a beautiful day out. Bright blue skies with sun filtering down through the trees. Sansa couldn’t enjoy it. Thoughts swirled around in her head. That conversation had grounded her, put the immensity of this decision in perspective. But she’d killed them.  
She still saw Petyr’s face in her mind. Slightly surprised, as if he couldn’t believe what just happened.  
No, they should continue on. They’d already come so far. Arya was so set on leaving. They could do it together, make a home for themselves.  
But they’d always be looking over their shoulders.  
Were Ramsay and Petyr worth getting rid of Sansa Stark for? Did she really want to erase her entire life over them?

“We’re about a mile or two off from the trail head.”

“Oh. Okay great.”

She supposed that Tyrion could have been lying. Lannisters did that. But a lot of what he’d said had rang true to her ears. She flipped the card over in her hand. The paper was thick, with fine print silver lining.  
Her back was already starting to ache from the bags.

“You’re sure we can get across the border?”

“Absolutely. There might be border patrol but if we see them we can just just take a little detour. So just, keep an eye out. But we don’t have to worry about that for at least a week.”

The trailhead was easy to overlook. It was hidden by low hanging trees and overgrow weeds. A worn-out sign warned against littering and bears.  
Arya walked forward, deftly avoiding the mud. But Sansa stood frozen.  
This was it for her. She needed to decide if she was really going to do this. Disappear with Arya forever or face the music? She didn’t want to go back, she reminded herself. Sansa Stark wanted to become a new person. She could still do important things under an alias. Going back would be terrible. The students at Harvard would point her out, the people of Winterfell would pity her.  
All of a sudden Sansa realized she was sick and tired of doing things for other people. The partying on Friday night, the grades, even the makeup. Did she even like her major or did she just like the way people were impressed with pre-med students?  
She’d done things for other people her entire life.

“I can’t do this.” She said.

Arya turned back, “What?”

“I can’t. Or I could, I don’t want to. I want to go back to Winterfell and see mom and dad and our brothers.”

“Oh.” Arya looked disappointed, “For real?”

“For real.”

Arya was silent.

“I’m sorry. I know you put a lot of thought into this.”

“Nah it’s okay. I mean, this was about you so whatever you think is best.”

“I think I need to go back. Tyrion said he would represent me and I’d be able to get off with only some community service.”

“Yeah. I can’t imagine they’d throw the book at ya.”

“Alright. Then…” Sansa motioned with her head.

Together the sisters headed back the way they came.

“I miss mom and dad.” Sansa said.

“Me too.”

It was past noon before they got back to the inn. Tysha and Tyrion had gone but the hostess at the bar called them a cab. They ordered some sandwiches to go.  
The ride home was far too long. Sansa impatiently tapped her hand on the car door. She tried to focus on the book but her eyes kept sliding off the page.  
Was she making a bad decision? It wasn’t too late to turn back.  
Would they even recognize her with her hair like this?  
Her anxiety grew as they turned into the city. But behind it was a deeper ache. She wanted to see them all again. Father, Mother, Robb, Bran, Rickon, Jon. They were safety. She was tired of being afraid.  
It was evening by the time the cab driver dropped them off in front of Winterfell. Her eyes soaked in the familiar grey stone, the ivy-covered walls, their gardens out front.  
Arya paid the cab driver in cash.

“Dad must have finally managed to get the press away.”

“Was it bad?”

“They mobbed the outside. Wouldn’t dare to go beyond the gate because Robb would have shot them.”

Sansa smiled. How could she have thought that she was alone?  
Arya typed in the code and the gates slowly opened. The house was dark. Only a bottom window glowed with light.

“We should get them in time for dinner. I think. Which is good, because I’m hungry.”

Sansa rolled her eyes, "You're always hungry."

Arya fished out her keys from the backpack, “I didn’t throw them away. Just in case.”

As she opened the door all of Sansa’s apprehension came back. What if her family was angry? What if they despised her?  
The sisters stepped in the house. Sansa stood in the atrium and looked around. She hadn’t thought she’d ever see it ever again. They heard voices coming from the kitchen area, the sound of a chair moved.  
Behind her, Arya was taking off her shoes and equipment.  
Sansa was frozen in fear as footsteps walked toward them.  
Her father emerged from the kitchen.  
His eyes landed on Arya and then Sansa and his eyes widened in recognition.

He rushed forward and enveloped her in a hug, “Sansa!”  
Tears pricked her eyes, "Dad."  
Arya joined them, “Sorry Dad.”  
And then Robb and Jon, Bran and Rickon, Aunt Lyanna and Uncle Rhaegar were all there surrounding her with joy and relief. No hatred or pity in sight.  
For the first time, in a long time, she felt safe and loved. She didn’t stop getting hugs for an hour.  
-  
Arya didn’t get grounded for running off, but did get heavily scolded by Ned and Catelyn. Sansa never forgot how her sister dropped everything to run away with her.

Robb went back to finish out his degree, but Sansa took a semester off to work on her mental health. 

Tyrion got Sansa off with only a hundred hours of community service, which was a piece of cake for her, given that she already volunteered.

Aunt Lysa reacted poorly as expected, denying everything and generally being a menace. But her best efforts availed nothing and only served to alienated her from the family.

Sansa spent a lot of time working through her trauma with a therapist and returned to Harvard next semester with the intent of becoming a psychiatrist. She wanted to help other survivors who faced abuse and trauma. It wasn’t easy going back, given that the entire campus knew who she was, but it didn’t matter anymore. Their opinions didn’t affect her like they did in the past. Because she was Sansa Stark and she knew who she was. She could handle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for sticking around until the end! I appreciate it. Writing this was therapy in and of itself for me because I've been through some similar stuff. Happy to say that I've graduated now though.
> 
> Please leave a comment letting me know how ya feel.


End file.
